


my earthbound heart is heavy (your heartbeat keeps things light)

by hajiiwa



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, zev gets topped lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:35:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22214923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hajiiwa/pseuds/hajiiwa
Summary: This should last you until I get back,the note reads in Dante’s sharp, slanted handwriting.It’s just to help keep your system clear. Only a few sips per day.We’ve got to head out again, but if I come back and you haven’t taken care of yourself I will be very cross.Also, I hope the boots fit.The boots?Setting aside the note, Zevran glances past the vials of blue-tinged liquid and finds himself looking at a pair of boots, sure enough, and when he reaches out to take them he instantly recognizes the feel of Antivan leather beneath his fingers, the faint smell that, while worn, still reminded him of home.He grips them a little tighter and looks back down at the letter.P.S.Try not to get shot again so I can have you with me next time. I miss having you at my side.Yours,Dante.
Relationships: Male Amell/Zevran Arainai, Zevran Arainai/Isabela, Zevran Arainai/Male Warden
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	my earthbound heart is heavy (your heartbeat keeps things light)

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer:  
> the sex scenes are brief but use explicit language!
> 
> i love zevran a whole lot aight. i just. i just do

If Zevran believed in fate, it would almost seem like fate had lead them here.

Sitting down and stretching his arms out above his head, he watches in amusement as Leliana surveys her hand of cards and Isabela in turn. The duelist is confident as always, her mouth playing at a smirk, as Leliana loses another round.

“You know, there was probably an easier way they could have handled this,” says Zevran mildly, turning back to the table he shared with the two Grey Wardens. “Isabela is… cunning, as well as, ah-- _comely_.”

Alistair snorts as Dante glances over at the pair. “You think she would be into something like that?” the mage asks, curiosity coloring his tone. Zevran shrugs.

“Perhaps,” he says. “I _have_ seen the way she eyes Morrigan at our camp.”

“Urgh.” Alistair wrinkles his nose. “Not sure why anyone would do that, to be honest. Looking at her for too long may result in turning to stone, or worse.”

“That isn’t how magic works,” Dante protests rather lightly. “I know Morrigan is a… special case, but she can’t just look at you and do that.”

“She can change _herself_ , can’t she? What’s stopping her from frog-ifying us at any moment?”

“What would she gain from that, Alistair?”

“It could be a temporary thing! A prank!”

The nervous rambling was rather funny, Zevran would admit, but once again he finds himself glancing over to watch the game unfold. Isabela’s fingers are quick and dexterous as she shuffles and deals, Zevran’s eyes locking on them with almost a sense of nostalgia before drifting back up, finding her gaze resting on him as well. She raises an eyebrow, amused, and all Zevran can do is lightly tip his glass and turn back around.

Alistair has stopped his babbling, but the tips of his ears had tinged a faint red and he was anxiously tapping the glass beneath his fingers. “Must we stay here?” he presses. “I understand that there is some… business to be taken care of, but we got rid of those rowdy mercenaries and I could really use a change of scenery.”

“How could you not enjoy where we are?” asks Zevran with a tilt of his head. “Look around you. There are beautiful things in places like this, and I’m not just talking about the women.”

“Oh, right.” Alistair snorts rather harshly. “What, because it reminds you of _home_?”

“Yes,” Zevran admits, “but look a little closer. See that fine lady, the one who has been greeting all of the guests? Every so often, she looks over to that room over there.” Subtly, he motions to it. “A couple went in there about ten minutes ago-- strapping young guy and a woman probably twice his age. When he first came in, he looked at her-- that lady-- for a long moment, pretty much like they knew each other, and she didn’t give the usual rundown before taking him off to meet his potential companions. After they came back she put her hand in her pocket and took something out of it, and look, even now, how she twists it between her fingers.”

Dante had a slight frown on his face. “But how can you assume that is beauty?” he asks. “Maybe they have a rough history and she is holding something to restore comfort.”

“You raise a good point,” Zevran hums, watching the woman a little closer, “but do you think that expression on that lovely face of hers is fear? Or discomfort?”

Alistair didn’t bother to turn around, but Dante leans a little closer to Zevran to get a better look. The Antivan feels a lock of dark hair gently brush his cheek. “She looks… thoughtful,” he says, straightening. “Is she in love?”

“That’s my guess.” Zevran smiles at the mage seated next to him. “And perhaps that shiny thing in her hand is a ring.”

Dante frowns and looks as though he wants to say something, but before he got the chance, noise from behind them causes the party to turn. Leliana and Isabela had stood up and were talking rather amicably, the redhead’s face flushed with pride.

“It wasn’t really about if I won, right?” Leliana guesses, accepting her outstretched hand. “It was to see if I could catch you.”

“Correct.” Her eyes glitter a little, finger tapping the bold vein on the back of the lay sister’s hand. “I see that I taught you that game well, unless...” Her voice drops and Zevran tilts his head to better hear her. “You’d prefer to learn something different tonight?”

“O-oh,” Leliana stammers, “I… I am flattered, but I’m afraid I’m not in my right mind for that at the moment.”

“Fair enough.” Isabela smiles at her, the expression sly and teasing. “Perhaps some other time.”

Dante tentatively clears his throat. “Right, so… if you’re all wrapped up here, we should find a place to spend the night,” he says. “It’s far too late to continue our travels and I don’t wish to spend half an hour setting up a camp.”

“Please don’t suggest you think we have to spend our night _here_ ,” Alistair presses, somewhat disdained.

“No,” says Dante with a small shrug, “there are other places in town to rest your head. Just be back here by ten tomorrow so that we can get a proper start.”

Zevran comfortably crosses his legs as Alistair stands and follows Leliana out the door. “Are _you_ spending the night here?” he asks, curiosity getting the better of him. Dante fiddles with the fur trim on his robes and clears his throat.

“Perhaps,” comes his vague answer. “I could use a bit of a… reprieve.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Zevran asks, laughing. “I could have pointed you to many a whorehouse along these roads, not to mention the pretty face or two that tend to be at camp. Isabela would also be more than willing to entertain a handsome young man like yourself, if my memory of her serves.”

Dante laughs as well, but the sound is forced and a little nervous. “I am not, um… She is not my usual preference. But you two have fun.”

“Ah, I never said I would…” Zevran trails off once he sees the look on Dante’s face. “I see. I shouldn’t even bother denying, right?”

“I’ve come to know you pretty well, Zev.” The Grey Warden smiles, the expression small and genuine on his face. “Stay safe, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Zevran nods. “Ten,” he echoes. “Enjoy your night.”

Dante turns to leave and Zevran finds himself once again looking at Isabela, talking quietly with her first mate with a smirk on her face. He stands, sighing, and lopes his way over once he had her attention.

“I’ll admit, Zevran, that you’re a sight for sore eyes.” She grins, the same wide, rough expression that he had missed seeing, and smacks his arm. “A nomad now, hmm?”

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs, “fighting bad guys and taking their money. Not far from my usual.”

“Gotcha.” She hooks a finger in a strap of his armor. “Now, I’m gonna catch you before you keep talking and say why don’t we catch up _properly_?”

***

Nails dig furiously into his scalp and a moan fills the air, low and yearning, and Zevran closes his eyes as Isabela pushes him in closer and squeezes her thighs around his head.

“ _Yes_ , how I have missed you,” she murmurs, voice breathy, and Zevran snickers to himself and wetness smears over his lips and cheek. Eagerly, he fucks his fingers into her harder and relishes the way her grip on his hair tightens, keeps him in place exactly where she wants him-- he worships the cherry-red swell of her clit until she pushes him away, panting, and sits up. 

“Lay down,” she orders, and Zevran is more than happy to drop himself down onto the bed and wriggle out of the rest of his clothes. Isabela’s fingers wrap around his dick and she kisses him, uncaring of the slick over his lips, and when she sinks down around him Zevran can’t help the groan that gets pulled from the back of his throat. 

Greedy hands push down on his chest as Isabela pulls away from him, breathing hard, impatiently throwing her hair over one shoulder-- Zevran’s eyes rake over her exposed chest, the proud swell of her tits, the subtle rock of her hips as she adjusts herself. The look on his face must have completely betrayed him because Isabela looks down and grins, bearing more weight on his chest to keep him still.

“Always in control, eh?” Zevran asks, voice a little hoarse, and Isabela just laughs.

“Lucky you,” she says, leaning down to kiss him again.

***

The relaxation feels nice. Zevran’s eyes are closed as he idly rubs a hand up and down Isabela’s side, the slightly larger woman resting her head against his chest. “You asleep down there?” he asks, to which she merely grunts.

“You wish.” She turns her head to face him and smiles rather crookedly. “... I missed you, Zev. You’re good to have around.” 

He smiles back. “Flatterer,” he says, brushing hair away from her face before letting his hand fall.

Isabela sits up a little and leans back against the headboard, shifting so she could still see him. “It’s pretty lucky that you’re here right now,” she says after a moment. 

“Very lucky,” Zevran hums. “It’s all thanks to him, you know. Many people would not show me such mercy.”

“Or you could have just… not targeted Grey Wardens.” Isabela walks her fingers up his chest. “They’re notorious for a reason.”

Zevran doesn’t say anything for a second. “He probably didn’t kill me out of pity,” he says, trying to force his tone to be light. “Another body to help keep him safe at night, perhaps?”

“I don’t think that’s true.” Isabela hesitates. “Won’t you tell me the real reason you were on that job, Zev?”

“Don’t you already know it, Bella?” Zevran says, glancing at her rather sharply. “Why do you need me to say it?”

Isabela just sighs. “I don’t.”

They’re quiet for a second, but the silence is tense and uncomfortable. She clears her throat and tries again. “Your warden, is he…?”

“What?”

“You know.” She waves a hand. “Preferring a man to take him to bed. I want to know if I should take offense.”

Zevran smiles. “Ah,” he says, “I think so, but I cannot say for sure. Morrigan-- she’s a very lovely, if somewhat crude, mage that travels with us sometimes-- has made passes at him before, but I am not sure if he is merely a puritan or if he does not seek women in that way.”

“Have _you_ made a pass at him?” Isabela asks, her tone now quite curious.

“Not really,” Zevran answers. “I’d rather not… try my luck and have him take offense. He could very easily kick me to the curb, and then what?”

“Let’s just say you’re right and he does seek out men.” Isabela tilts her head. “Would you try your luck _then_?”

Again, Zevran seems rather reluctant to answer. “I’m sorry, I--” Isabela coughs. “I thought you still had a penchant for both. I understand if that is in the past.”

“It isn’t,” Zevran says honestly, “but I… cannot say if I would ask him something like that. Make no mistake, I have eyes, I have seen how very handsome he is, but… he decided to take me in. Trust me enough to let me travel with him, talk to him, and doesn’t treat me as if…” A sudden wave of fondness grips Zevran’s chest. “As if I am unworthy of respect. It is refreshing, Bella, and I don’t want to chance that.”

Isabela just looks at him. “Do you think you have the potential to love him?” she asks, and Zevran feels his face harden just a little.

“I do not know,” he lies. “But since when has love been my brand?”

Isabela sighs and wriggles down to rest her head against a pillow. “Since her,” she says, and both of them know she doesn’t need to clarify.

***

Morning arrives swiftly. By the time Zevran awakes Isabela is gone, but the morning light that peeks through the shades lets him know that he didn’t sleep past Dante’s appointed regrouping time. He stands, multiple joins cracking as he does so, and grunts as he finds clean clothes and dons his armor. 

He finds his party outside the Pearl, most of them eating as Alistair and Isabela spar. His eyes linger on them for a moment before he accepts some food from Leliana, thanking her and leaning against the nearest building.

“Enjoy yourself last night?” she asks, her tone not hiding interest particularly well.

“Very much so,” Zevran confirms with a slight smirk. “Do you, ah… happen to know what our favorite warden got up to?”

Alistair shoots him a withering glance, but Zevran almost misses it as he spots Dante talking quietly to Isabela’s first mate. “Couldn’t tell you,” she responds. “Just ask him when you get the chance.”

“Nah, nevermind.” Zevran shrugs. “It does not matter to me so much.”

He watches the duo spar for a while, somewhat interested in the techniques of a duelist. Every so often his eyes drift back over to Dante, now standing by himself and leaning against a wall. His hair, usually nicely combed and tucked behind his ears, was a little messier and curlier than Zevran had seen it in the past. He can feel Leliana’s gaze on him, though, so he looks away from the young mage to converse with her instead.

“Tell me,” Zevran says, “why did you turn down Isabela’s offer last night?

Leliana’s eyebrows raise. “She spent the night with you, didn’t she?” 

“Well, yes,” Zevran responds, “but your being there certainly wouldn’t have hurt anything.”

Leliana laughs a little to herself and bites the inside of her cheek. “I am… not sure,” she says after a moment. “Isabela is beautiful, yes, and I have… lain with women before, but…”

“But?” Zevran asks, curious, and Leliana huffs.

“I do not know,” she reiterates. “She had asked me about Dante, actually, if she thought he was… also interested.”

Zevran can’t help the small curl of curiosity that twists in his gut. “Oh?” he asks. “What did you tell her?”

“I said I… did not think he would be,” Leliana says. “I certainly didn’t want to assume his preferences, but one can learn to pick up on such things.”

“Yes.” Zevran’s eyes flick back over, surprised to see that Dante had moved from his spot and was no longer visible. “One can.”

The sun had reached its peak in the sky before Alistair and Isabela had finally deemed their duelling finished. “Apologies that it took quite that long,” he says, “but I’d like to learn as much as I possibly can.”

Dante had reemerged shortly before that point and was seated next to Leliana, but stands up once Alistair approaches. “If everyone is ready, we can begin the journey to Haven now,” he says.

“I’ll be honest, I almost forgot that was our next step.” Alistair glances around. “Being in the city is… an easy life to get used to.”

“Yes, well, apparently we’ve an Arl to save.” Dante clears his throat. “Um-- Zevran, could I have a word with you?”

Zevran raises his eyebrows. “Always,” he hums, an intrigued smile creeping over his face. He meets Isabela’s gaze for a moment before following Dante around the corner, his head tilted. “Something you need from me?”

“I was talking with Isabela’s first mate earlier but I wanted your opinion as well.” Dante hesitates. “Do you think she would be interested in joining us? Our cause?”

“My opinion?” Zevran asks, mildly surprised. “Why?”

“Well, you two seem…” Dante waves a hand. “Close. In a few different ways.”

“Ah, in that you are not wrong.” Zevran folds his arms. “But Isabela is a captain, you know. Her life belongs to the sea. If asked to give that up and spend her time trekking across Blighted lands with a handful of nobodies, she would most likely laugh in your face.”

Dante’s cheeks color a flushed shade of pink. “I assumed as much,” he sighs, “but I… I don’t know. She’s a good fighter and having familiar faces around is always a good thing.”

Zevran tilts his head. “She is not familiar to-- oh,” he says. “Were you going to extend the offer on my behalf?”

The mage’s eyes widen and then dart away. “... partially,” he admits. “Not out of pity, or anything, believe me, just that… I don’t know. I want you to be happy. Sometimes I look at you and you look… deeply unhappy.”

The words send a small jolt of surprise through Zevran’s gut. “Believe me, Dante,” he says, reaching out to put a hand on the younger man’s arm, “these have been some of the happier days of my life. As much as I talk of Antiva, of the Crows, there were… many unsavory people that I left behind. Provided you do not choose to unexpectedly enact your revenge on me, even if I do leave your company, you will always be someone I am grateful to have met.”

He squeezes, gently, and the blush on Dante’s cheeks spreads. Zevran drops his hand and smiles, expecting to say something else, but Dante blurts out before he got the chance. “Once this is all over,” he says, blinking quickly, “if-- if you think you would be safe, maybe we could… go to Antiva. Together.”

“Perhaps, my Warden.” Zevran feels warmth spread through his chest. “Once you save the world, I will take you wherever you wish to go.”

***

The journey to Haven itself was simple enough, if rather long. The days were filled with harmless chatter and the nights were terse, with fighting off Darkspawn gradually becoming the norm for their band. Those evenings at camp become cherished despite the wardens in their party becoming constantly plagued with nightmares and slowly, undeniably, Zevran starts to feel the pull of fondness in his gut.

They’re about a day out from Haven now. It’s calm, quiet, with Leliana softly singing over the crackle of the fire. The Mabari is dozing off near Alistair and Zevran closes his eyes for a moment, tilting his head back against the log he leaned on.

There’s shifting to his right and, ignoring his first instincts to tense up, Zevran slowly opens his eyes to see Dante sitting down next to him. “You’ve got good taste,” he says, his shoulder just barely touching Zevran’s own. “This is a good spot to be in.”

“Warm,” Zevran concurs, stretching his arms out and sighing. “Something on your mind?”

Dante looks over, confused, so Zevran smiles and continues: “You tend to approach me when you’re wrestling with something,” he explains. “As if I have a clearer mind than you do.”

“Ah. I hadn’t noticed that.” Dante hesitates. “But I think it’s just because you’re easy to talk to.”

Interest sparks in Zevran’s heart. “That so?” he asks with a tilt of his head. “I’ll admit, in my line of work, there are two things I am typically praised for.”

“Former line of work,” the warden reminds, “and, well, you’ve already proven to be poor at one of those things.”

Zevran hums. “Lucky for you,” he says, nudging Dante with his elbow. “But you haven’t seen the other one yet.”

“Yet?” Dante shoots back, a familiar pink spreading over his cheeks.

“Perhaps,” Zevran answers rather elusively, “if you play your cards right.”

“How very confident.” Dante pulls one leg up to knock his knee against Zevran’s, having apparently grown used to this sort of conversation. “What if you’re not my type?”

“Look at me. I’m _everyone’s_ type.”

Across the fire, Leliana’s voice dies down and she calmly sips some water. The warmth from the blaze isn’t the only reason Zevran can feel his heartbeat begin to pick up and he cocks an eyebrow, smiling as Dante shifts a little closer to him. “I suppose you are correct enough,” he says, clearing his throat but very pointedly not meeting Zevran’s eyes-- instead, they seem to be trained on his hair.

“What?” he asks. “Not one for blondes?”

“No, I--” Dante reaches up. “Your braids are loose.”

“Ah, I see. Are you going to fix them for me?”

Dante was already in the process of undoing one, so it would seem he had his answer. Zevran sits up a little straighter and turns his head, eyelids slowly falling at the feeling of the mage’s careful fingers running through the braids and pulling them loose.

“I used to braid my sister’s hair,” Dante says after a moment, “before I was… found out.”

Zevran hums quietly. “You never told me you had a sister.”

“I miss her.” Dante fingers very briefly stall before continuing. “More than my parents, really. They tended to be absent, so even when I was fairly young, I… looked after her.”

“Where did you live?” Zevran asks. “Maybe we can try to pay a visit.”

“The village was small. South of Redcliffe.” He takes a deep, somewhat shaky breath. “South of Lothering.”

There’s a slight twinge at Zevran’s heart and he opens his eyes again. “I’m sorry,” he says, knowing that Dante wouldn’t want to voice it further. The mage doesn’t answer, but Zevran feels the tremble of Dante’s hands eventually smooth out as he redoes the braids and clears his throat.

Turning back toward the fire, Zevran lifts a hand to his hair and smiles. “Good as new,” he says, looking over and smiling. “Thank you.”

Dante nods, but there’s a vacancy in his eyes that Zevran hadn’t seen in a few weeks. Perhaps against his better judgement, he leans forward and presses his lips to Dante’s cheek, the kiss brief and gentle. “Get some rest,” he recommends, watching surprise spread over the man’s countenance. “We’ve still got a long road ahead of us.”

***

The ambush comes early in the morning. The sun had yet to make an appearance when Zevran awakes to shouting, his body instantly tensing as he wakes up to see commotion spreading over their camp.

Darkspawn, of course. Not an inordinate amount, but the mages had Sten locked up in place and Alistair’s movements slowing. Adrenaline quickly flooding his veins Zevran snatches up the nearest blade, merely a dagger, and yanks on armor as he scans to see who needs the most help.

There’s a Hurlock bearing down on Dante, an alpha, too massive in stature to be affected by his draining spells-- he trips and falls, but manages to roll out of the way as the Darkspawn’s axe crashes down into the dirt. His target located, Zevran snatches up another blade and darts out to his defense.

Too focused on the downed mage, the Hurlock doesn’t notice Zevran’s quick exit and path behind him. The dagger flies forward and embeds itself in its back, Dante scrambling to his feet and casting a spell that floods Zevran’s limbs with power. Moving quickly, he yanks the blade out of the Darkspawn’s back and slashes across its shoulder, the heavy axe sagging as a consequence, and as it turns to face its unseen attacker it suddenly freezes up. Chancing a look at Dante, who had blood smeared over his face, Zevran tightens his grip on the sword and plunges it into the Hurlock’s chest. It breaches the armor and the Hurlock roars, furious, swaying in place as the assassin shoves it back and the monster falls.

“Behind you!” shouts Leliana, and Zevran whips around just in time to see the Darkspawn archer’s arrow fly.

It hits him direct in the gut and he reels, blades falling from his hands, as pain shoots through his torso-- vision still clear, he manages to see Leliana fell the archer, but shortly after he looks at his hands and sees that they are green.

He coughs. There’s a hand on his chest and a familiar wave of healing energy passes over him, but the strange twisting of his gut doesn’t cease. He looks down and sees the arrow crumbling into a powder, the head buried deep into his stomach searing hot, his knees locking into place as if trapped in stone. Mind reeling, Zevran keels over and falls unconscious.

***

“What _was_ that?” asks an exasperated Alistair, his brow slick with sweat and his hair disheveled. 

“Their weapons were enchanted, but… not with anything I’ve encountered,” Dante says, swallowing. He can feel a familiar shaking in his hands but tries to still it and concentrate, the elf lying in front of him now barely breathing. “Was anyone else seriously hurt?”

“I can take care of my own injuries,” Morrigan grunts-- the slash wound over her chest was blistering and burnt. “Did that arrow… dissolve?”

Leliana nods, examining the quiver she had picked up from one of the Darkspawn. “The poison isn’t just in the tip,” she says, “it’s like… the wood itself has been imbued with magic. Earth, for these ones.”

Dante glances up as Zevran’s eyelids flicker, his caramel skin now tinted a sickly green. “I’ve-- I think I’ve stopped it spreading,” he says, taking one of the Antivan’s hands and examining it, “and I, um-- numbed him. I think he’ll be out for a while.”

“So we can go now, correct?” Sten asks, tone stiff as ever. “The little elf will recover.”

Anxiety flicks through Dante’s gut. “I’d like to stay and make sure he’s okay,” he says. “This poison isn’t like what I’ve encountered before, I-I want to be here in case something happens.”

“Morrigan could stay,” suggests Alistair. “That also means she won’t have to go to Haven with us.”

He ignores the withering glare from the other mage in the party and shakes his head. “No,” he says, “I’m going to stay until he wakes up. Alistair, you could scout ahead at Haven and see what we’ll be faced with.”

“Oh.” Alistair clears his throat. “Uh, I mean-- maybe. Yes. _Just_ me?”

“Whoever you want to take, I don’t know,” Dante presses, “just-- I’m not going until I know he’s okay.”

He catches the glance Leliana gives him but, once again, ignores it. “Fine, right,” Alistair says, folding his arms, “I’ll… we’ll leave at sunup.”

***

Zevran feels the dull ache in his gut before anything. There’s no burn of sunlight through his eyelids or nip of wind at his arms and he stretches out, just a little, very slowly opening his eyes and glancing around.

He didn’t… feel a whole lot. Looking down, he sees that he’s naked from the waist up, bandages wrapped carefully around his midsection with the visible skin faintly glowing. As his memory begins to return he sees the flaps of the tent open and Dante ducks inside, nearly dropping the flask of water he held in his hands as he does so.

“You’re awake!” he says, relief obvious in his tone as he snatches up his staff and hastens to Zevran’s side. “Good, I-- it took you long enough. Sorry for the, um, situation, I just wanted to keep your body in stasis while the antidote worked.”

Zevran doesn’t say anything (not entirely sure if he _could_ ), merely watching as the numbness begins to fade and he stretches out his stiff limbs. Blinking, he accepts the water from Dante and takes a slow drink, mind gradually catching up to his body; the ambush, the arrow, the panic as his bones turned brittle and his vision faded.

“Are you feeling okay?” Dante asks, nervous, and takes the flask back. “Can I take off the bandages?”

“Ye--” Zevran grimaces at the crack in his voice. “Ah, yes, that’s… okay.”

He sits up with a bit of assistance and Dante sets aside his staff, cautiously unwrapping the gauze as if something breakable was contained inside. Zevran takes a deep breath. “You don’t have to be so--”

“Be quiet,” Dante interrupts, “because I know what you’re going to say. I’m going to worry about you even when you’re not poisoned, so, shut up.”

Zevran physically bites down on his tongue. “Now, I’m not a medic, but I did the best I could,” the mage says, and as the last of the wrap gets peeled away all that’s visible is a faintly green scar, completely healed over and hardly noticeable against the natural tone of his skin. “It’s only been, uh, a few days,” Dante continues, “but that was enough time for your system to work out the poison, I hope. I just stayed to see it through.”

“... you saved my life,” Zevran says after a second. “Again.”

Dante smiles rather crookedly. “I was just repaying the favor,” he says. “There’s no way I would have survived that Hurlock alone if you hadn’t stepped in.”

“Why did…” Zevran swallows. “Why are you here? What happened to Haven?”

“Some of the others went ahead and got a head start.” Dante sets aside the bandages. “I’ll be following tomorrow, now that I know you’re okay.”

“I’m coming with,” says Zevran, but Dante just shakes his head.

“No, you aren’t.”

“But--”

“As-- as irreplaceable as you are,” Dante says, clearing his throat, “I’m not going to force you to trek up a mountain and possibly endanger yourself in this condition.”

“But the only reason I am here is to help, is it not?”

“ _Zev_ ,” he says, voice a little sharper, “you swore to be of service where you could, right? And listen to my-- my abundant Grey Warden wisdom? I’m telling you that I want you to stay here for your own safety.”

It’s quiet between them for a moment. Faint embarrassment makes Zevran’s chest tighten but Dante just reaches out, tucking some stray hairs behind his ear with a steady hand. “You matter to me, alright?” he reminds. “If I could choose between you being safe, if a little bored, and wandering into an unknown city on a wild goose chase, then I’m… obviously gonna choose for you to--”

“I know,” Zevran blurts. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t question you, I… have things to lose now, after all. I won’t fight you on this.”

Dante smiles, small and relieved, and the expression makes Zevran’s heart spike. “Good,” he says. “By now, you should know that you matter to me.” 

“Yes, I…” Zevran looks up at him, and the feeling that spreads through him could only really be defined as _trust_. “I know that.”

***

Zevran eats what his stomach allowed him to and then falls back asleep. When he woke up, Dante was gone, but next to his bedroll is a small assortment of items and a hastily scrawled note. Moving on his own was easy enough now and Zevran reaches out, grabbing the note with a slight scowl of effort.

_This should last you until I get back,_ the note reads in Dante’s sharp, slanted handwriting. _It’s just to help keep your system clear. Only a few sips per day._

_We’ve got to head out again, but if I come back and you haven’t taken care of yourself I will be very cross._

_Also, I hope the boots fit._

The boots?

Setting aside the note, Zevran glances past the vials of blue-tinged liquid and finds himself looking at a pair of boots, sure enough, and when he reaches out to take them he instantly recognizes the feel of Antivan leather beneath his fingers, the faint smell that, while worn, still reminded him of home. 

He grips them a little tighter and looks back down at the letter.

_P.S._

_Try not to get shot again so I can have you with me next time. I miss having you at my side._

_Yours,_  
_Dante._

***

The following day, Morrigan tells him that the trip was expected to be no more than three days, accommodating for complications regarding Brother Genitivi’s willingness to come along with them or share his own research.

Those first few days pass pretty quickly. The following few don’t.

Almost two weeks had passed and of those remaining at the camp, Zevran found himself to be the only one particularly worried. He attempts to speak to Morrigan about it but she was dismissive, claiming that they “knew what they were doing”. Zevran didn’t doubt that, of course, but the sun was setting on the sixteenth day with zero word as to where their companions were.

Zevran had just decided to follow in their footsteps that next morning when, peering up the road, he sees a group of four approaching the camp. Their silhouettes were familiar enough at this point and he can’t help the spark of relief in his chest, somewhat anxiously popping his knuckles as the Mabari at his feet barks and charges forward.

Dante gets tackled to the ground and Zevran hides a smile, noticing the dirt and blood on all of their faces, clothes, but the lack of visible injuries provided at least some relief. “You will not believe what we have been through,” Leliana says, her voice strained as she pulls her fingers through her short, knotted hair. “Honestly, it’s kind of a miracle that we are even here.”

“Is that so?” Zevran walks forward a bit and holds out a hand to Dante, apparently too tired to haul himself off of the ground, and helping him to his feet. “What happened? Did you find this Brother Genitivi?”

“And so much more.” Dante grins at him, the first wide, earnest one Zevran had ever seen. “Oh, have I got a story for you.”

***

With a pinch of the Ashes under their belt, the group begins to make the trek back down to Redcliffe after a day or so of rest. This journey is far shorter, with the only real struggles they faced being the occasional Darkspawn ambush, during which Zevran often found himself flanking a mage. Their return to the castle marked the first time in weeks where they were able to sleep in real beds, eat more than one proper meal a day, and treat some long-standing issues.

While it does feel a little odd to be so spread out rather than clustered around a bonfire, Zevran gratefully takes advantage of the freedom. He spends some time in the library, some time training outside with the soldiers, and once, nearly avoiding falling asleep in the bath-- a couple of times he catches the eye of a servant, or a guard, and despite the itch behind his skin to loosen someone up, something holds him back every time. 

Well, of course it was more like some _one_.

Dante was the busiest of their little band, having to analyze treaties, talk over timeline and strategy with the Arl, and a couple of days on end went by without Zevran even catching a glance of him. After their weeks of travel and conversation, he could say he wasn’t a fan of the development.

Their third day brought change. The sun was just beginning to set and food was in preparation, with Zevran nearly bumping into someone as he turned a corner.

“Ah, s-sorry--” Dante’s apology cuts off as he sees who he bumped into and, much to Zevran’s delight, a smile spreads over his face. “Oh, hi. I feel like I haven’t seen you at all.”

“Me either.” Zevran tilts his head. “Where are you going? Dinner is about to be served.”

Dante hesitates. “Oh, uh, is it?”

“... yes?”

“Right. Good.” Dante coughs, a very slight blush spreading over his face. “Um, I’ll be there, I just need a second.”

Suffice to say that Zevran’s curiosity was piqued. “What could possibly be keeping you away from a proper meal?” he asks, but Dante is quick to brush it off and step past him.

“I’ll be there,” he deflects, shooting Zevran a nervous smile before continuing down the hallway and out of sight.

It had nothing to do with a lack of trust, Zevran reasoned to himself as he quickly follows in the mage’s footsteps, it was just… concern. Interest.

He knew Dante to be pretty perceptive so he keeps his distance, but in the end, it wasn’t difficult for someone like himself to track a man down unnoticed. Dante makes a final turn into a training room, and when Zevran presses himself against the wall to listen, none of his questions were answered.

“You’re late.”

“Sorry, I-- I got held up.”

“It’s fine. Now take that off.”

Zevran can feel his eyebrows raise but continues to listen anyway, hearing the gentle click of wood against the floor.

“Have you been practicing?”

“Uh, yes, I--”

“Don’t say uh. Have you or have you not?”

“... I have.”

“Good. Take it out.”

Maybe this was a private conversation. Zevran hesitates before he moves away from the wall, a sort of confused disappointment curling in his gut, when he hears the sudden clang of steel against steel.

“You barely parried that.”

“B-but I parried it--”

“Don’t stammer--” another harsh ring of blades-- “and had I been going at you with any more force, it would have broken through. Don’t let your elbow drift so far out, keep it in close.”

He was _fighting_?

“Better,” comes that same unfamiliar voice, definitely a woman’s. “Come on, again. You’ll not be using these attacks offensively, but you’ll still need better stamina.”

“Nn-- oh, I can’t--” _clang_ \-- “I can’t train for long right now.”

“No? Why is that?”

_Clang_. “I promised someone I would be at dinner.”

Zevran smiles.

“Too bad. You skipped out on me this morning.”

“Hey, no, I had--”

There’s the sound of a body hitting the floor and a blade clattering from someone’s grip. “Don’t get sloppy,” says the woman in a clipped tone. “You came to me for help, didn’t you?”

“... yes?”

“Then dinner can wait. On your feet.”

Zevran steps away from the wall, his curiosity sated, his fingers almost unconsciously pressing to the small scar on his stomach-- part of him wants to confront Dante about this, but the other part knows that there was probably a reason he kept this hidden. Zevran walks back to the dining hall and takes a seat by Leliana, who leans in close to him.

“Hey, do you have any idea where Dante is?” she asks.

“Nope,” Zevran answers. “No clue.”

***

A plate of food in his hands, Zevran realizes a little too late that he isn’t actually sure which room is Dante’s. He glances around in confusion, knowing at least that it was down this hall, but two doors on each side meant that he was not lacking options. Clearing his throat, Zevran walks up to one of the doors and knocks.

An old man opens the door. “Well, hello the-- wait. You aren’t a maid.”

“A wonderful observation, ser,” Zevran says, turning on his heel to knock on the door opposite to the man’s. There was no response to that one, but luckily, the third door opened before he could knock.

“Zev?” Dante asks in confusion, “what are you doing here?”

“I am bringing you food,” Zevran says, holding up the plate, “since you missed dinner.”

Dante’s eyes flicker away. “Oh, yeah, sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize,” Zevran says, striding past him and into the room, “but you tend to rag on me about proper habits, so here I am to return the favor. Have you had a meal today?”

“Uh… one,” Dante says, slowly closing the door as Zevran sets down the plate. “You didn’t have to bring me this, you know. I would have gone myself.”

“You hadn’t yet,” Zevran points out, “and those in the kitchen don’t like to stay much past their appointed time.”

Dante laughs, but the sound is stilted, awkward. “Right,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thanks.”

Zevran nods a little bit and sits down on the bed as Dante takes the chair and begins to eat. “What exactly held you up?” he asks after a moment. “If you don’t mind telling me.”

The mage hesitates, swallowing the bit of bread he had in his mouth before speaking. “I was training with someone,” he says. “For… hand-to-hand combat. Non-mage stuff.”

The honesty came as a pleasant surprise, Zevran would admit. “Really?” he asks. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“I dunno. It’s certainly not my department.” Dante laughs again, but this time it sounds a little more earnest. “I guess I was embarrassed.”

“You shouldn’t be.” Zevran smiles at him. “I think being well-rounded is important.”

“... yeah.” Dante returns the expression, looking somewhat relieved. “Me too.”

From there, the conversation comes easy. Dante finishes his food and they just talk, honestly and openly, for once feeling as if the world wasn’t bearing down on their shoulders. Zevran reminisces about Antiva, about the Crows, and Dante recounts his years in the Tower, of harsh Templars and strict teachers. The night carries on but Zevran doesn’t feel the tiredness, not really, because when Dante starts talking about the first time he intentionally cast a spell, his eyes light up and his face flushes pink and he leans in closer, as if it were important that Zevran listened.

And it felt… _good_. Not in the typical way, not with a hot rush of excitement to his gut, but when Dante looked at him and beamed and let down his guard, he felt deserving of it, of this attention, and when the affection creeps over him, Zevran didn’t want anything to stifle it. 

They’re both on the bed now, lying on their backs at staring up at the ceiling, as if through it they could see the star-speckled sky. Dante takes a deep breath and Zevran glances over to watch the rise and fall of his chest, broader than his own but still rather slim for a human, and when Dante catches him looking he merely grins.

The mage props himself up on one arm and looks down at him, green eyes glinting with curiosity. “What?” he asks, tone light and gently teasing. “Something on your mind?”

“I do have a question for you,” Zevran hums. “When you were in the tower you were a young man, yes? How did you… grow into yourself?”

Dante tilts his head. “What do you mean?” he asks, but when Zevran’s eyes flick down and back up the implication doesn’t pass him by.

“Oh,” Dante says, laughing a bit, “it was… tricky. The Templars _always_ had a close eye on us.”

“And?” Zevran urges. “How did you sneak your way around that?”

The smile that Dante gives is by far the slyest he had ever seen. “I didn’t,” he says. “There was one Templar… a bit older than me, but not by much, who stood out from the rest. He was kinder, gentler, and when the time came, made his interest known.”

“I’m sure that went over well with his superiors.”

“They never found out,” Dante responds, smiling to himself. “He was… consistent, for a while. Then there was this girl, another mage, who… helped me figure out what I wanted.”

“Which was?”

“Not women.”

Zevran snickers. “I suppose that is fair,” he says, feeling a smile pull at his lips. “Personally, I have found myself appreciative of both sides.”

“I know.” Dante props his chin upon his hand. “So you have said.”

“Well, I had to make it obvious, didn’t I?” Zevran raises an eyebrow, his gaze once again sliding down from Dante’s face. “As that Templar did.”

“Believe me, Zev,” says Dante, leaning down a little closer, “that Templar is nothing compared to you.”

When Dante kisses him, it is so gentle and fond that Zevran feels his stomach flip over. His eyes drift shut and he reaches up, placing a hand to the mage’s cheek, letting his fingers wander into soft, dark locks-- Dante gives a quiet hum and pulls away, head angling to the other side, and only moves back in when Zevran tugs lightly on his hair.

“I have waited for you to do this,” Zevran says between chaste kisses, “for so very long.”

“I know,” Dante answers, smiling, and when his hand trails down Zevran’s leg and then up between them, his intent couldn’t be any clearer. 

“I wanted to make you wait for it.”

***

Fucking a mage, Zevran would soon come to realize, came with undeniable benefits.

As much as he strains his arms, the unseen force locking his wrists together above his head remained steadfast. All of the tension had been drained from his body and every touch felt more electrifying than usual, more powerful, and when Dante pulls back and kisses the tip of Zevran’s cock, the moan that gets pulled from his throat is completely unbidden.

“Oh, you tease,” he breathes, pushing his chest up and opening his eyes, “I thought I had done enough waiting?”

“No,” Dante hums, kissing a trail up from his navel and squeezing the Antivan’s thigh, “I quite like this. “

Zevran laughs. “Believe me, as do I,” he pants, “but-- I am not sure what is causing this, but I seem to be a bit more easily-- er-- weakened.”

Dante just smiles at him. “Not weakened,” he says, pulling a kiss from Zevran’s bottom lip, “I just heightened your senses a little bit. It certainly didn’t hurt that gave yourself up so quickly.”

“Hah, well, believe that next time I’m gonna _mmmph_ \--”

Zevran squeezes his eyes shut as Dante’s hand slips back down, effectively shutting him up as warm fingers wrap around his dick. “Going to what?” he asks, clearly amused, pumping his hand back and forth as Zevran attempts to hide the groan into his arm. 

“I am not used to-- to being-- to receiving,” he manages through gritted teeth, biceps flexing and hips jerking as Dante picks up speed.

“I figured as much,” Dante responds, his other hand rubbing up and down Zevran’s thigh, “which is a shame. You look-- you _sound_ \-- absolutely wonderful.”

Zevran laughs again, the sound breathy and hitched, but Dante continues. “Sex has just been a pleasant diversion for you, hasn’t it?” he asks, his own voice somehow still calm and collected. “I have no doubt that being the giver is pleasurable to you, my dear, but when was the last time someone was there to put you back together after they took you apart?”

He shudders, eyes squeezing shut, every iota of his being straining for more touch, more sensation, more of _him_. “A- _ah_ ,” Zevran moans, hands curling into fists, “Dante-- please--”

“Please what?” Dante urges, bearing over him again, a hand smoothing the hair out of Zevran’s flushed face. “Ask for it and I’ll give it to you, I promise, anything you want.”

His eyes snap open, yearning to grip onto Dante’s hair, press against his skin, pull the stress from his bones the way Dante had done to him-- instead, he spreads his legs a little wider and locks them around the younger man’s hips, feeling the binding force around his wrists almost instantly drop as he wraps his arms around Dante’s neck.

“ _Take me_.”

***

The next morning, Zevran is greeted with quiet.

Blearily, he opens his eyes, noticing the light that filtered through the curtains, the heavy press of a blanket over him. Moving resulted in multiple joints popping and he groans, partially reveling in the ache of his hips, his back, and when he turns onto his side to shield himself from the light, he comes face to face with Dante.

The mage is still asleep. His dark hair was disheveled and sticking up in all directions but his expression was lax with sleep, lips slightly parted and lashes subtly fluttering. Zevran looks at him for a moment, the sharp angles of his cheekbones and calm rise and fall of his shoulders, before scooting in closer and tucking himself into Dante’s chest.

An arm wraps around his torso and Dante sighs, still asleep, but even in his unconscious state, he holds Zevran close.

It takes mere seconds for Zevran to fall back asleep, his breathing falling into Dante’s rhythm.

***

They miss breakfast, of course. Zevran wakes up again when Dante begins to stir, the mage groaning a protest and the light that filtered into the room. “Too bright,” he complains, pushing his face into a pillow. Zevran absentmindedly runs his fingers through Dante’s hair and stifles a yawn.

“We are probably late for something, hmm?” he says, making no motion to get up. Dante nods, tilting his head to the side and squinting against the glare to look at him.

“Almost always,” he answers. “Remember how we gotta save the world?”

Zevran leans in and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I’m sure we can manage that.”

**Author's Note:**

> IM BACK AND I AM BACK WITH DRAGON AGE BABEY
> 
> nah for real it's been a year since i posted on here and i doubt any of my original audience cares but. But. hear me out.
> 
> DA good.
> 
> my tumblr is antiiva! come say hi heh


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